


Feelings Verse

by BurningBehindMyEyes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Emotions, Alternate Universes, Angst, Feelings, Gen, Not emotions and the Batfam, Oh my gosh I know, Series of One Shots, What Have I Done, this is all over the place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9038645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningBehindMyEyes/pseuds/BurningBehindMyEyes
Summary: A series of one-shots centered around the Batfam.Prompts will be accepted.Tags will be added as fic goes on!





	1. Grief (Gen, Bruce-centric)

Bruce Wayne knows grief. Grief is a heavy feeling that seems to come from one's heart but actually comes from your brain. Even though Bruce knows this, he cannot help but feel that his heart is heavy. Grief is in the way his face seems to droop, his eyes seem to age, and his vision blurs with tears. Grief, Bruce thinks, is the weight of someone in your arms. Not a warm weight, a weight of fire and blood and explosions. A weight that was the coldest thing Bruce had ever touched. The weight of a dead child. The first time Bruce had held that weight, it had destroyed him. He had sworn to never be that late again, to find the child before their screams faded. Bruce had seen the light in all of his children - and Jason's, even though it was hidden among the brick alleyways of his heart. It was still there. He was a kind boy, despite his anger. Even then, his anger had a purpose! Jason was angry for the other hurt children, abused women, and homeless families. It was righteous anger, anger that was justified! And it all was taken away. All because of an attention-seeking clown with way too much time on his hands.

Bruce remembered the heavy, cold, dead weight of Jason in his arms, and he had sworn to never let it happen again. He promised to Jason's bloody uniform, and to Jason's stone grave, that no child of his would ever die wondering where he was again. And so, came the grief. Tim came, helped lift his heavy , grieving heart, but Bruce had dug a hole as deep as Jason's grave and he would never dig himself out. Then Jason was resurrected, and the hole lessened, but the boy had changed. His righteous anger was closer to just... fury. He had changed, he was violent and no longer had hope. It had broken Bruce, torn him to shreds, and he had promised it would never happen again - but he was nothing but a liar.

For the second time, Bruce cried over a dead boy. For he once again had the cold, dead weight of a son in his arms. Only this time, a different son; a different place, and a different enemy. But the ending was the same. Bruce didn't get there in time, and his son died alone.

Cold.

And wondering if anyone would save him.

But no one came.


	2. Smiles (Gen, Dick-centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Point of view of Dick Grayson.

I try to always be happy. Happy, not just for myself, but for others too. I love making people happy. I perform, put on a show, and do tricks to get people to smile and laugh. That talent is something that circus performers have, a unique trait we embody. I love laughter, and laughter is contagious. So I laugh. When I smile, laugh, and sneak in the sugary cereal I love so much, Alfie smiles. It's always subtle, but when he does, I always notice. The corners of his old lips turn up, smile-wrinkles around his mouth become more defined, and his eyes always narrow and smile along with his mouth. His eyebrows lower, and he relaxes. Alfie doesn't smile often, but it's nice when he does. Bruce rarely smiles in front of all of us, because when he does smile for his "kids", it's never his Brucie-persona smirk, it's always real. I think Bruce is afraid to show emotion in front of anyone, so when he does smile, it's really hard to tell. He almost always smiles after he turns his back, and even though he is a supreme master of controlling his body, his shoulders always drop.

Don't tell him, or he'll stop and I'll have to look for a new tick to tell!

When Jason smiles, one side of his mouth quirks up and his eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. He has ever-so-slight dimples, which grin right along with him when he does smile. Tim, is very different. When he smiles, he smiles with his whole entire face. It all lights up, makes him look younger and his face rounder.

When Damian smiles, his mouth stretches and his cheekbones become more pronounced. His green eyes seem to become brighter, his body small with the promise of a willowy build instead of a tank-like, powerful one. And in one, very scary moment, Damian looks exactly like Talia. I know Bruce sees Talia, and shies away.

As for me? I see a child.

And he's smiling.


	3. Monster (Gen, Batfam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic is set in the Justice League headquarters, where the past version of the Batfam - (basically everyone except Damian) is gathered because a time traveller has appeared claiming to be Bruce's son in the future.
> 
> In this universe of Batman, Jason never died, and Bruce is much happier and open as a person, and wants to get to know his future biological son.  
> Things aren't as good as they seem.

Bruce was having an odd day, but it was a beautiful day anyway. A young boy of fourteen years of age had been sent back in time in some sort of accident involving a portal prototype. He said his name was Damian, and that he was Bruce's son. He had hesitated when he said that, and Bruce's heart had gone out to him. This little boy was his biological son. Bruce loved him already.

"So." Superman approached Damian. They had all broken for lunch in the Justice League headquarters. "What sort of things are different in your timeline?" Bruce leaned forward at the questions, eager for the answer and to know more about his son. Damian's eyes - jade green eyes flickered up, and he placed his hands on the table before folding them.

"For starters," Damian glanced over at Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin. "Hood dies before he becomes the Red Hood. I'm assuming that didn't happen here."

"Nope." Jason popped the p. "Joker tried. He failed."

"Hm." Damian nodded. "I thought so."

"Are you Robin in your timeline?" Tim asked, leaning forward questioningly.

"I was. I'm Redbird now."

"Redbird, huh? Cool, cool. Is Joker still our biggest pain in the ass?" Dick joked.

"Not anymore. He was murdered."

"Really? Who did it?" Bruce asked, butting in. Damian looked away.

"He... after he killed the Joker, He. He killed Oracle, Batgirl, and Black Bat, before we even knew it. The first time we realized he was an enemy... he killed Hood in front of us. Took one of his own guns and shot him right between the eyes. Red Robin, that is your future role, Robin, grabbed me and ran while Nightwing distracted him. Nightwing was brutally injured when we found him, but Red Robin kept us safe by always moving. We couldn't hide forever. I was eleven when he caught up to us. He pushed Red Robin off a building and laughed, yelling 'Little Bird can't fly anymore, can he?' as Red Robin hit the ground and didn't get up. Nightwing and I ran for two years, fighting him at odd intervals. Then he caught us. Tortured Nightwing to death in front of me, but he kept me alive, calling me his 'Little Robin'." Damian shuddered. "I'm the only one left. I've been running for a year."

"Who is it? We could stop it now." Jason slammed a fist into his open palm. Both Dick and Tim nodded, looking grim.

"Yes, I agree." Bruce growled. "Son." he placed his hand over one of Damian's, not seeing the way the boy flinched. "Who are you fighting?"

"He's skilled and stubborn. You'll never take him down. The only option is to run and pray he doesn't find me." Damian murmured.

"And he called you 'his little Robin'? Dang, what a creep." Jason muttered.

"He does have a claim on me." Damian said, refusing to make eye contact.

"Damian." Bruce smiled when his son's jade green eyes met his. "I'm your father and I love you. I won't let this man hurt you. Please Damian, who are you fighting?"

Damian gulped and looked away, hesitating. He seemed to steel himself before answering, drawing his chest up and taking a deep breath.

"It's you."

Damian looked Bruce dead in the eyes.

"I'm fighting you."


	4. Baby Bats and Baby Birds (Gen, AU, Dami and Benjamin centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in a universe where Benjamin, Damian's younger brother, has switched roles with Damian.
> 
> Benjamin was sent to live with Bruce while Damian, a small child a few years younger, stayed with Talia to ensure Benjamin's cooperation.
> 
> Benjamin rallies what he can to get his baby brother back.

"I'll come clean. I'll tell Father everything; that I was a spy, what Mother's plans are, and what I was really sent there to do. Everything. I will accept any punishment given and will leave if I am asked. But only if you help me with this one thing." Benjamin's dark blue eyes stared defiantly into Tim's icy blue eyes.

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Alright." Tim sighed. "What do you want?"

"There's something I left back at the League. It's incredibly important to me, and I cannot leave it behind. And no, it is not a weapon."

"So we're storming the League?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll call my team."

An hour later, the Teen Titans and Benjamin were all awkwardly situated within one of Red Robin's jets. The Teen Titans were all glancing at each other uneasily. 

"Sooooo...." Conner started. "What are we looking for? We'd be able to find it faster if you'd just tell us what it is."

Benjamin sighed, standing up. "He's about yay tall." the dark haired boy lifted his hand, gesturing to somewhere just above his hip bone. "With black hair, green eyes, and darkened skin. His name is Damian."

Beast Boy nearly fell off his chair. "You're storming the League for a boy?!"

"He's no ordinary kid. He's my little brother." Benjamin explained, unaware of the bomb he had just dropped upon the poor, unsuspecting Titans. "My mother cloned me and created him. She really had no interest in him, but I wanted a little brother, so she changed some of his DNA to make us look slightly different. It was a present to me. I've basically raised him. He's five now." a small smile had made it's way upon Benjamin's face, and Tim was confused. He had only ever seen Benjamin scowl or smirk in cruel triumph. This sudden gentleness from the Demon Brat had Tim's head reeling.

More hours of awkward silence later, they had arrived in Arabia. The jet landed and Tim strode out grimly, ready to take on the League.

... only to have to duck as a flying wheelchair screaming "BENJI!!!!" almost careened straight into his face. With disbelief etched on his features, he turned to see the wheelchair smash into Benjamin, who merely grinned and lifted a body out of the metal contraption. The wheelchair fell to the ground, the boy in Benjamin's arms crushing him in a hug.

"Hey, you little bed bug. Miss me?" Benjamin had that gentle smile on his face yet again, nuzzling his chin on the top of the boy's head.

"Yes." the boy mumbled. Benjamin chuckled before bending down, resituating the wheelchair and settling the young boy down upon it. It was then that Tim got a good look at the kid. He had on tight black pants, showing off his sickly-looking, skinny leg shape. He had on thick, black leather boots with steel designs. His shirt was long, much bigger than him and clearly not his. He had rolled the sleeves up to an enormous ball just above his elbows. The shirt was black, long sleeved, and turtle necked. Big green eyes blinked up at Tim, darkened skin complimenting the ebony, messy locks that sprung around his ears. His hair was poofy, and curled around his head. Around his waist was a toolbelt, gears and tools sticking out everywhere, with a grease mark across his cheekbone.

"This is Damian," Benjamin said, and the boy shyly waved.

"Benji?" Damian asked.

"Yes?"

"You know Mother will never stop chasing you for taking me away, right?"

"I know. But you're worth it, bed bug."

"Well. I took care of it just in case." just as Damian spoke, the League base blew up behind him. The boy blinked once more. "I planted the bombs about ten minutes ago. Had to build them small so Mother wouldn't see them, and they would detonate when everyone I liked was outta there. I love you, Benji."

"Love you too, you little psychopathic, genius engineer bed bug."


	5. Similarities (Jay&Dami)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason reflecting on Damian.

Jason Todd looked down at his side, where a boy was sleeping soundly. Batman had screamed at Robin for trying to solve a case on his own. The Red Hood had swept in and grabbed the kid, whisking him away with Bats glaring all the way. But Jason had been in the neighbourhood, and seeing Bruce yell at his son for just trying to please him had brought back a lot of memories. Except Damian was lucky, having the big, bad Red Hood fighting in his corner when Jason had had no one. After the boy had vented and cried a little, he had collapsed and fallen asleep. Jason was more than happy to look after the kid. He knew how B felt. Sort of. Damian had just been resurrected, and with the way the kid died, no wonder Bruce would never want him back on the streets, solving cases and biting off more than he could chew. Jason's fingers were mindlessly scraping through Damian's soft hair, providing comfort and reassurance.

Jason leaned back on the roof storehouse wall they were against, and remembered Damian's death. The kid was young. Youngest Robin to ever die. And it was brutal too, stabbed to death by his own clone on his mother's orders. It was a sad way to die, really. ( _Betrayed by his mother._ ) The kid fought well, ( _Ran into the Joker_ ) but it hadn't been enough. ( _Tortured for hours_ ) Talia had never done well with broken toys, ( _Captured alive - his first mistake_ ) and Jason knew that all too well. ( _Resurrected, life, a flash of green-_ ) He blinked down at the boy, green shining in his eyes. ( _that were once blue, the green was brighter than anything natural_ ) At least, Damian hadn't been dumped in a Lazarus pit. ( _Screaming, pain, torment-_ )

Damian had screamed as he died, in pain and in emotional torment.

"You know, kid?" Jason's voice was soft.

"Maybe we're more similar than I ever thought."


	6. Words We've Said (Tim&Dami)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by my little brother telling me I deserved to die yesterday.

"You are such a demon!" Tim screamed. He leaned back and massaged his throat, glaring venomously at the nine year old sitting at the kitchen table. Damian had, once again, proved to be a giant pain in the ass.

Tim just didn't understand that kid. He had tried to be civil when he met Damian - he had wanted to like the boy. He was excited to be a sort-of big brother, and he wanted to have a good relationship with the kid. But then Damian tried to kill him, and constantly walked around this too-big house with a pompous, arrogant attitude, saying he was this, that, and so much better than everyone else. Damian constantly belittled Tim, put him down, and told him he was worth nothing.

Truthfully, Tim was tired of it. Besides, the stupid brat had stolen his title as Robin, tricked Dick into thinking he was a person able to be saved, and killed thousands of people. The brat had been raised as an assassin. Son of Talia al Ghul and grandson of Ra's al Ghul - that didn't exactly paint the greatest picture of mental health.

The kid had a ton of issues. He belonged in a mental asylum with a straight jacket and a personal set of sedatives. And several therapists. This morning, Tim had found and foiled yet another plan to assassinate him. The kid had tormented Jason by placing a crowbar on his bed, completely disregarded orders on patrol and almost placed everyone in extreme danger because of it. He was dangerous, deadly, and wouldn't ever change. Tim leaned back, lifting his hands from the table and sighed.

It wasn't even 10am yet. Tim sighed again as he pulled a chair from the table and sat down heavily, eyeing Damian who had merely continued eating his breakfast of pancakes, as if Tim hadn't said a thing at all. Tim found himself overtaken by anger at the sight, of his nonchalant Damian was about how horrible of a person he was.

"Honestly." Tim rubbed the bridge of his nose, glaring at Damian through the corner of his eyes. "You really do deserve to die, you know that?"

The brat usually took his breakfast upstairs to his room. He was obviously just down here to bother Tim again.

The boy stopped eating then sighed, before placing his cutlery down.

"Yes." Tim nearly fell out of his chair at the response, sitting up and staring wide eyed at Damian. "I do deserve it." the boy spoke softly, saying his world shattering piece before standing and leaving the table, his breakfast only half finished. Tim watched him walk up the stairs, heard his door close.

And could only sit in stunned silence.

Then, a gunshot went off, the sound of glass breaking, and Tim was moving, faster than he thought he ever had before, and he reached Damian's room, threw open the handle and-

Was greeted by an assassin diving out the window and his little brother's dead body on the floor.


	7. Word We've Said part Two (Dami-centric)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys asked, I delievered!

There was an assassin in his bedroom.

Damian knew that. The assassin was none other than his younger clone, sent here to prove himself by their insane mother. Damian had woken up when the boy tried to enter the room, and seeing no need to confront him, decided to merely leave and come back when he was sure the child was gone. He winced slightly, but still grinned when he heard Drake shriek as his shower curtain grew spikes and fell. Damian glanced behind him, stepping down the staircase delicately. The plan had not been to harm Drake, merely to scare him.

And it seemed it worked. Damian walked quicker, leaving the stairs behind as Drake screamed his name is aggravation. Damian rolled his eyes and continued down into the dining room. Pennyworth - and Damian still winced at that - merely raised an eyebrow as he set Damian's breakfast down. The boy pulled a chair, sat, and began to eat. There were other traps similarly set around Drake's room to scare him, but Damian's favourite was the giant kazoo that blew right next to Drake's ear and elicited yet another shriek.

The fact that Damian could not bring himself to refer to Pennyworth and Drake by their first names... it embodied a sense of familiarity that Damian just felt that they didn't have.

If he was defective enough to not be able to make relationships, then at least he could craft a personality of anger and rashness to cover it up.

Damian ate in silence, being roughly halfway through his meal when Drake came into view. To be honest, Damian wasn't listening when Drake started screaming about demon brats, and he didn't care much for it, either.

It seemed he had gone too far.

Damian opened his mouth to voice a proposal, to ask Drake what he could do to apologize, or just how to say sorry-

"You honestly deserve to die, you know that?"

The words cut through Damian's thoughts like a hot knife through butter.

Oh.

Oh. That was what Drake wanted.

Damian felt a twist in his gut, a sick sort of feeling that grabbed his heart and ceased it's beating all together. He refused to cry and no tears came. But he remembered the assassin in his bedroom.

He remembered what it had felt like to fail Mother and Grandfather.

He remembered his unvoiced apology.

So maybe this was the way. He stood and he smiled at Drake, who seemed ready for another fight.

"Yes." he agreed. "I sort of do, don't I?"

And with that, Damian walked away.

He felt bad for the boy. The kid's arms were shaking as he raised the gun.

Damian could see them shake through the shadows of his lamp.

A broken Robin stood tall...

Until one single gunshot ended it all.


	8. Less Than Human (Gen, Dami centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce crosses a line.

"I know you have problems connecting to people." those words made Damian freeze, look up at his father who was leaning over his desk, head in his hands. As Damian actually started paying attention, Bruce picked his head up. "And I know you have issues understanding people."

Damian didn't think he could breathe.

"But you have to at least try." Bruce said, leaning forward some more. He reached a hand out gently, placating, between them. "We can help, Damian. You don't have to do this alone. There's therapists and-"

"I don't feel well. I'm going to my room." Damian stood and left, cutting his father off and feeling Bruce's eyes on him for the rest of the his exit.

He shut his bedroom door behind him.

He refused to acknowledge the tears coming from his eyes.

Because making connections was something a human could do. Anything that couldn't had to be less than human.

And less than human, Damian was indeed.


	9. I can't fly (Dami centric)

The ground was dirty. Covered in dust and dried pieces of mud, small shots of grass peeking through the thick sludge. It was raining, and that only added to the puddles surrounding his prone body. The forest leaves provided little protective, the trees sparse, with leaves littering the ground. The sun was setting, orange glow shining from the sky as the moon and stars became prominent, the sky darkening with every second. He lay there, rain battering on his face, unable to wet the parts of his face covered by his mask. Half of it was torn off. His cape was spread out around his body, large and bright yellow. His body, painted in red in more ways than one, sported the yellow accents full of tools he had used, bombs he had thrown, and a birdarangs he had launched to no end. He had gone into this battle knowing he wouldn’t win, and he wasn’t surprised when he did. Damian turned his face to look at his green glove, hiding the emergency signal. The boy gently rolled himself onto his less injured side, wincing as his broken ribs pressed into his body uncomfortably. He hit the button, engaging the facial display. He didn’t care who picked up at this point, but he knew he needed to tell someone.

“Demon Brat.” the gray mask covering his head and top part of Tim’s face on the small monitor showed no emotion, but the downward tilt to his mouth spoke volumes. “Why are you using this function? You know full well Batman is at a Justice League meeting. You’re only supposed to use this in emergencies.”

“Psh, like the Hell Spawn knows how to follow instructions.” Damian could hear Todd’s taunt from somewhere else inside the Cave, the sound of clinking metal following his voice. Damian blinked at the screen, knowing full well he looked like a mess. Rain was falling hard, and when it touched his wounds, it stung. It hid the tears streaming from his face, which he was grateful for. He could die in peace, at least, keeping his pride intact.

“You got your wish, Drake.” he wheezed, smiling, blood stained teeth showing through his bruised and bloody lips. He saw Drake start, frown even deeper, his body language showing confusion rather than pure annoyance. “You can finally continue your stupid hit list… Grandfather is coming.”

Drake froze on the screen in surprise, Todd coming up behind him to peek at Damian’s condition.

“Ra’s? What the hell? How do you know?” Drake demanded, and Damian could almost see his eyebrows furrow under the headpiece. Damian sported another bloodstained grin. “And what about my hit list?”

“Four broken ribs, broken wrist, arm, pelvis, collarbone, and nose. Stabbed six times, twice in my back, once in my upper room, one to the knee, and two to the gut. Multiple bruises.” Damian listed this off with a clinical detachment. “I won’t make it.” he was greeted with nothing but silence for a moment, before Drake began screaming about tracking his location and calling the others. Todd ran to do just that, and Damian only chuckled, breathing getting harder and harder, his lungs refusing to pull in air. “Collapsed lung… imminent.” he listed, unable to catch his breath. He fought for air, chest heaving. “D-don’t…” Damian took another wheezing breath. “...bother.” he coughed, blood splattering the ground below him, and _oh_ , there went his lung. He could feel the blood fill the essential organ, hindering his breathing. He sucked in the liquid, felt the taste of it on his tongue. He barely heard through the static, Drake screaming to Todd, as Todd yelled at Grayson, Grayson yelling back in clear worry. “Broken birds can’t fly…” he wheezed, barely audible.

Damian never really understood why Grayson worried.

Dead or alive, he had been useful. He had passed on the information.

Damian rolled back over, the camera only able to pick up the trees, his face gone from the monitor’s view. Drake was yelling at him now, telling him to roll back over, to say something, _anything_

_His vision blackened, and it must have had everything to do with the fact that the sun was gone, the sky dark and the forest quiet. The rain kept going, washing away the blood on Damian’s body. He cracked a smile, fighting for breath. His chest heaved, his throat burned, his body desperately tried to fight exactly what it knew was coming, but it wouldn’t be enough. It was futile. Futile. All futile._

__

His hearing was nothing but static, nothing reaching his ears. His vision darkened.

__

And he was gone.

__

Gone, but looking down, when he found his Mother. She stood at the foot of his body, her face hidden in shadow. He watched her fall to her knees, watch her get on the same level as the mud on the ground. He watched her gather his body into her arms, he watched her rock him, shushing him, and singing a soft song in a language only known to the League, her voice broken and tears going down her face. But like Damian, she used the rain to hide it, and Damian wondered why she had not treated him with this when he was alive. It would have made all the difference, if she had.

__

Damian turned away, his cape gone and his wings clipped. His mother looked up, watching bloody robin feathers fall from the sky, and he heard her cry. He heard her promise revenge, he heard her swear that this was the last straw with Grandfather - but Mother had been following him ever since she was a child. She had been raised as Damian had, taught to accept pain as love and suffering as kindness. She was drawn to what hurt her, which was why she continued to pursue Damian’s father, despite knowing he did not love her, could never love her. That was why she kept choosing her father, knowing full well that she would only be hurt again and again. Damian walked until he could not hear her anymore. He thought about Drake.

__

He saw Drake. He was in the Cave. Father had come back with pretty much the entire League, and they were already setting off to look for him. Drake was watching in frozen shock as they all witnessed Talia al Ghul rocking her dead child’s body to sleep for the last time. Todd looked like, for all his talk, he had no fight left. His guard was down, his face dead and full of despair. Grayson was wailing, straining to go forwards, being held back by Starfire, who had tears in her eyes. She was shushing him, trying to calm Grayson’s cries of “That’s my **brother**! Let me go!” while Father had the most expressionless face Damian had ever seen. But Damian could tell it was a mask.

__

Father wasn’t Father without a mask.

__

Damian watched them.

__

They didn’t see him.

__

Damian looked up, seeing white, and down, seeing black. Which was he meant for? He could feel chains pulling him both ways.

__

He was always tied to two opposites.

__

He saw a wheel.

__

He spun it, and vanished.

__

One year, four months, and twelve days later, Koriand’r gave birth in a hospital in Bludhaven, her determined boyfriend and father of her child beside her.

__

Their child had black hair, darkened skin, and brilliant emerald eyes.

__

Dick cried.

__

And named him Damian.

__

Damian Bruce Grayson.

__

Tim spent his time playing with Damian, teaching him how to fight and defend himself, and all the computer skills he would ever need. Jason taught him to shoot and how to blend in in the streets, how to survive when it was rough, and a love of literature. His Dad taught him how to fly on a bar, his Mom teaching him to fly using his own power. His Grandpa taught him how to tie a bowtie, how to remember someone, and what a grave was. Alfie taught him how to cook.

__

Damian stared at the grave reading “Damian Wayne”, and turned to his Uncle Tim.

__

“Broken birds can’t fly.” he said, holding his Uncle’s hand. His Uncle turned to him sharply, eyes widened. “But I can.” Damian looked up at his Uncle.

__

“Why did that happen? Why do bad things happen to good people?”

__

“I don’t know, Damian.” his Uncle’s voice sounded choked as he leaned down to give Damian a hug. “They just do… and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

__


End file.
